


Retribution

by EvesHornyFear



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Eves Horny Fear, F/F, Fix-It, Revenge, Slow Burn, Soft Assassin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvesHornyFear/pseuds/EvesHornyFear
Summary: A shot fired, a postcard left, an act of revenge plotted.What happens when you kill a prominent member of an international crime organization?





	1. The Mundane

**Author's Note:**

> First time doing this. Be kind, but also honest. Because that's important too.
> 
> This is my attempt at a fix-it/season 3. It'll be a slow burn, but I won't keep you guys hanging. Our babies will be end game. Just be patient. 
> 
> I love a good soundtrack, so each chapter will include a song to perfectly set the mood.

_[Presenka - Ruki Vverh!]_  

Konstantin sits on the steps outside of the ruins, thinking about the decision that he just had to make.

Noises surround him, cars passing, bike bells ringing, people shuffling with their shopping. He sighs. It always seems to be the way. That when you’re listening for something specific, all you can hear is the mundane.

Did he make the right choice? Did he push her enough to make the predictable action? Would she even notice the type of gun he left? Did she take it with her? Did he have enough faith in Villanelle that she wouldn’t actually strike to kill? Would this even work out?

He picks at his nails, hoping it will help him focus.

But all he hears is the subtle yet authoritative click of approaching footsteps. Carolyn.

She doesn’t say anything. But he can see that she’s worried too. Her face is tight, her expression questioning. She hands him the envelope. The safehouse location, not for his family, but for Eve.

He sighs, pockets the information, and shrugs lightly.

Konstantin turns and begins the slow journey down the stairs. Carolyn watches him retreat. He pauses at the mouth of the alley.

A gunshot rings out, clear and sharp against the everyday noises. 

Konstantin turns towards Carolyn. She nods. And they both gaze towards the bathhouse ruins.


	2. Meet Me in Moscow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle's POV

_[Every You Every Me - (cover) Lisa Mitchell]_

Bullshit.

This is bullshit. I know it. She’s lying. But she’s walking away. Why is she walking away?

I feel my fingers tighten around the gun. She can’t leave.

“I thought you were special.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” a tear runs down her face as she turns her back on me.

No. _No!_ Konstantin made his choice; he chose someone else. But she can’t walk away and leave me too. I won’t let her. I won’t.

I raise the gun, and it feels foreign in my hand, for the first time in my life. The metal is cold, it feels heavy. But that doesn’t change it. She won’t leave.

The trigger pulls just as smoothly, and I grit my teeth as she falls. I passively look at her laying in the dirt with a darkening patch blooming on her green sweater.

I will leave her here. Laying in ruins, just like she’s ruined me. Now that’s massively poignant.

I don’t want to see her soul shrink. I don’t want to watch. What I want is a drink. And spaghetti. Dammit, Eve _._

* * *

 

I barrel through the cafe doors and walk straight towards the bar and a very crumpled looking man, nursing a tumbler. I want that. So, I take that. He makes a garbled noise as I rip it from his hands. The bartender yells. I want to be alone. I know there’s got to be a back room, I throw back the shot, drop the glass on the floor. It shatters as I push my way through the tables, making my way towards the double doors that should be the kitchen.

There are too many people here. The room feels like it’s shrinking and there’s too much noise. The people are starting to scatter. Those that are in my way get pushed to the side. I need space. I need to be alone. _Eve._

I shoulder the kitchen doors open, and finally let out the scream that’s been crawling up my throat since watching Eve collapse.

“Fuck! Arsehole!” I scream as a slam my hands down on the metal countertop. “Shit”

I lean heavily into the counter and drop my head. “Why? Why do you have to be like that Eve? Go home? You can’t go home. You’re like me. You think that stupid mustache will make you feel better?”

A clattering brings me out of my head. I stop muttering and raise my hands and head in the direction of the noise.I still have my fingers wrapped tightly around the gun, oh dear. Plates lay broken on the floor and a dishwasher with another annoying mustache stands there, hands raised, dripping dirty water on the tile.

“What are you looking at?” I snap and instead of running like a normal, sane person, this guy just faints. That’s fine. Better for me, actually. Less to clean up later.

I listlessly walk further into the dingy kitchen until I’m facing the freezer door. I put my back against the door and slide my way down until I’m sitting on the floor. The cold from the door seeps through my shirt and settles home into my bones. For the second time in less than two months, I cry. _Eve._

I don’t understand the tears, but they come anyway. And they come so quickly and heavily that I feel like I’m suffocating. My clothes feel too tight. I rip at my shirt with my left hand, tearing the neck. My belt is digging into my stomach and suddenly the gun is rattling to the floor and I’m clutching at the offending piece of leather with both hands. Between my shuddering breath and my fingers that have forgotten how to work, I struggle. I shriek in frustration as I claw at my stomach. Finally, the buckle pops and I can breathe.

I close my eyes and take in huge lungfuls of air, trying to focus on the cold metal digging into my back. I don’t know how long I sit there, just breathing and listening to the pounding inside my chest. _Eve._

I know someone is standing in front of me without even needing to open my eyes. I can feel the displaced space. And then the air changes and my eyes snap open and the gun is already in my hand, my finger squeezing.

The noise of the rapport ricochets off the metal prep tables and kitchen equipment, and blood sprays. I move to my feet and look down. The dishwasher lays bleeding on the floor, and gives a final wheezing gurgle as she dies.

And then there are sirens.

I run to look through the circular window on the kitchen door and see emergency vehicles skid in the street, stopping in front of the café. _Eve._

“Shit.” I mutter as I back away. My eyes land a back door, and I step over the dishwashers ridiculous mustached body.

Hmm. Turns out he was more mess than I anticipated.

* * *

A black jacket hangs on the wall by the back door. As I peer into the alley, I slip the jacket on. I stow the gun in the pocket and then zip up the front. I can’t do anything about the pants, but at least I am less red now. I take my hair down quickly and run my fingers through it and then step into the alley.

I stay in the shadows until a group of tourists meanders by. I step into the Roman sunlight and blend in with their group. Their annoying chatter is easy to ignore and I get lost in my head again. _Stupid Eve_ . _Alaska would have been so much better than this. She’s probably still alive. We could still go. Still have spaghetti._

I stop walking.

“We could still go,” I say to no one, but a teenager in the group turns to look at me. I say it again. “Eve, we could still go.”

I turn around, leaving the tour group behind and double back down the street. Sirens are still blaring. Another emergency vehicle has turned up. And I fold up the collar on the jacket. Across from the café, I slide back into the shadows of the ruins. The sun is starting to set and a golden glow has taken over Rome.

I climb down the steps, my feet moving faster as I get closer to her. I’m breathing heavily.

The archway is just up ahead and around the corner. I can see it. I can see the light change as it flows through the gap in the stone. I’m running now. _Eve._

“Eve!” I yell as I turn the corner.

She’s gone. I spin around, squinting into the lengthening shadows.

“Eve?!”

I jog to where she collapsed.

In a pool of drying blood, there lies a postcard. The bright colors of Saint Basil’s Cathedral are illuminated in the falling snow. In jovial letters across the candy striped spires, the postcard reads “Meet Me in Moscow.” Blood has seeped into the paper, making the edge start to warp. I run my fingers of the familiar landmark. And pick it up.

I turn it over to read the back.

There are no coordinates. No hidden codes. But there in thick, black capitals:

 

_Sorry baby x._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks guys! Let me know what you think.


	3. Right as Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve's POV.

_ [Side Effects - Jade Bird] _

 

The first thing I noticed was the smell of wet concrete. Almost like the smell of the street after it rains in the summer. The second thing I notice is that it also smells like pennies, strong and metallic.

The third thing probably should have been the first, but I seem to be living things backward these days. And it was just a stream of obscenities, mostly just variations on  _ fuck, shit,  _ and  _ dick _ , followed by a resounding groan of pain _. _

That asshole shot me. Like shot, shot me. I moved my fingers down to my side to gently prod at the area.

Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of blood. Am I dying? Swear to god, if she killed me, I will haunt her fine Russian ass all the way until insanity.

It just occurred to me that I should look for her. It would be so like her to just be standing there, smirking. With something witty to say,  _ “Now we have matching scars.” _ Asshole.

I push my palm down on my side, and suddenly things go dark.

* * *

I jolt awake again to a noise, a rhythmic thudding, echoing through the ruins. My vision swims, and I’m shivering violently. But the unmistakable shape of combat boots floods my eyes. I instinctively shrink back and scream in pain.

The gravel crackles underneath the boot soles as the person’s weight shifts. I try to move my head, but sharp movements amplify the searing pain blossoming out of my side. The combat boots crouch and a face comes into view.

“’Oi, I know it’s not quite 6:00 yet. But looks like your shift has finished.”

I must have just looked at him in shock. Because he points to himself and then says in a heavy cockney accent, “Danny. We are going for sushi.”

Can this man not see that I’m laying on the ground in what I can only imagine as a substantial sized pool of my own blood?

“Erm…”

“You don’t remember then? I’m hurt!” and then he grabs my shoulder and hauls me into a sitting position. I scream again through gritted teeth. He looks down at me in amusement. “Love, stop screaming. It isn’t even that bad. Rubbing some dirt in it will fix it. Right as rain.”

“Look, Danny. I’m sure you’re great. But this isn’t the best time. But do you have a cell phone? Could you possibly call an ambulance for me? Then maybe, down the road….” I trail off. Because honestly, I have zero intention of sushi with this man.

He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a postcard and a felt-tipped pen. “Not today, love. But if you could just write something on this card. We need to get going. They’re expecting us.” He hands me the card and then pen.

I take them both with one bloody hand while keeping the other clenched on my side.

“Excuse me? Who am I writing to? Who are they? Maybe if you can just help me up, I’ll find my own way.”

“Villanelle. They think she’ll come back. They want to send a message. I was told you’d know just want to say to keep her interested. C’mon, quick now.”

I put the postcard on the ground and rip the lid off of the pen with my teeth. What do I even tell a psychopath that I just turned down? Why would she even follow me, since she obviously just shot me? So, I go back to the classics.

_ Sorry baby x. _

I hand the card back to Danny, who briefly looks and then tosses it aside. Then he bends down and throws me over his shoulder. I grunt in pain. And as we walk away I see the postcard sitting face up in the pool of blood. Have fun with that one, Villanelle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this meets up to standards! I'm going to try to post once a week on this, Mondays. But don't be mad if I'm a day late. 
> 
> Let me know if you like it. But also let me know if you hate it. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for your time. It means a lot. Please let me know what you think!


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